It’s mainly because of the meat (a day at the hospital)
Defying fate
the numbered pieces of meat are kept tender by the singing of the dart laden
Florence Nightengales
they lie glistening
some in cellophane wrap
fresh and clean
for the bug eyed greedy fate regulators and their machines
white clad techno princes
who sound the charge armed with reams of slaughtered trees
and sticks that relentlessly scratch
knives or forks?
needles or threads
charting with sage chants of the ringmasters of pain
whip the remnants of human dignity
for the hungry audiences of resident apprentices
gawking at the wisdom of the teacher
all believing
who perhaps
one day will know the power of their
Pharisees
Robert K. Stephen
